


When Two Worlds Collide

by MultiFanGirlWickedPony



Category: Emperor's New Groove (2000), Frozen (2013)
Genre: Boats and Ships, Cultural Differences, Culture Shock, Disney Multiverse, Eventual Romance, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Language Barrier, Male-Female Friendship, Ocean, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 18:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12018213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MultiFanGirlWickedPony/pseuds/MultiFanGirlWickedPony
Summary: An Emperor separated from his people in the New World. A Snow Queen who once froze the land in the Old World. And a language barrier in the way for both of them. What could they possibly have in common?





	When Two Worlds Collide

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my attempt at a Kuzco/Elsa fic. This was beta-read by Jingle and I'm not entirely sure how this is going to go. Let's find out.

Captain Arne had been in the Arendelle Navy for over twenty years. A man in the navy can see a lot in twenty years. The seas were not kind to everyone, and he had seen just about the worst of what the ocean…and the sailors on it…had to offer. So he was not surprised when, after cleaning up a particularly nasty Spanish ambush, a rookie Ensign came up from what appeared to be the ship’s brig.

 

“Captain!” He called, causing him to turn around. “You’d…you’d better come look at this. I don’t think you’re going to believe it.”

 

“Try me,” the Captain said dryly, but he went over anyway. “Is there a prisoner down there?”

 

The Ensign nodded. “One, but he’s unconscious...and I’ve never seen anyone like him before.”

 

The Captain nodded once, and the Ensign moved over as the Captain calmly went down. What he saw was by far not the worst, nor was it even in the top ten. Still, it was a pitiful sight.

 

He recognized that the man was a native of the Americas almost immediately. The tanned skin, coupled with the messy black hair that reached roughly halfway down his back, was all the proof he needed. The torn and tattered tunic the man wore was red, and when he stepped closer and touched the fabric lightly, he realized it was cotton. Wherever this man was from, he must have been important. Perhaps a noble, or its equivalent. It certainly didn’t look like the Spanish had cared, though. He was covered in bruises and scars, and he was certain that he would be able to count the man’s ribs, had his clothes been off.

 

“Ahem.”

 

The Captain looked over his shoulder. The Ensign was looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting for an order of some sort.

 

“Get the ship’s medic,” he ordered the Ensign. “He’s in poor condition, and our first priority for him right now is to fix him up as best we can. We’ll interrogate the prisoners about him later.”

 

The Ensign saluted. “Yes, sir,” he said, and he climbed up to carry out his orders. The Captain sighed and looked back at the man. No, it wasn’t the worst condition he’d ever seen someone in.

 

But that alone was sad.

 

***

 

Captain Arne was just about to retire for the night when there was a knock at his quarters. He sighed but turned to face the door. “Enter,” he said. The door opened, and the ship’s medic came in, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Well? How bad is the damage from the ambush?”

 

“There are no deaths, Captain,” the medic began, laying the worst fears to rest. “Nor will there be any. Two of the men are seriously injured and will need to remain on strict bed rest until we reach Arendelle again, at the very least. Thirteen have minor injuries, but they will take only about a week, at the most, to heal.”

 

Captain Arne nodded. “And what of our…guest?”

 

“The New Worlder?” The medic sighed. “Well…he’s stable, and he’ll live.” The Captain raised an eyebrow. “He’s also severely malnourished, and dehydrated,” the medic continued. “Several injuries, mostly scarring along his back and bruising on his face and arms…though there were a few tears in the…lower region that I’d like to keep an eye on. Oh, and a broken left forearm. We have that in a splint, but there’s no telling how long that arm has gone without being properly cared for.”

 

 _I’m probably going to have to amputate it_  was left unspoken, but not unknown.

 

“I see,” Captain Arne said, his voice kept carefully even. “Have the prisoners said anything about him, to the best of your knowledge?”

 

The medic bit his lip. “From what I understand,” he said, keeping his voice measured. “He was transferred from another ship, to be taken to Spain as some sort of…exotic attraction. He speaks no Spanish, nor any language they’d heard of, so they have no idea what part of the New World he’s from.”

 

Captain Arne frowned. Without any indication of what part of the New World this man was from, there was no way they could return him directly to his people. And if they returned him to the _wrong_  people, he may as well have signed this innocent stranger’s death warrant.

 

May the Lord himself strike him down with lightning _twice_ if he even thought about doing something like _t_ _hat_.

 

“Thank you for the report,” he said, nodding to the medic. “You’re dismissed.”

 

The medic nodded once and then left. The Captain bit his lip, then pulled out some papers.

 

The plan _had_  been to patrol the waters for pirates and potential threats for another three months, then head back to Arendelle to resupply. However, their new guest, and the five prisoners, did complicate things. For one thing, a malnourished man needed more food in order to regain his strength…and as much as he disliked his Spanish prisoners, he did need to feed them _something_ , and the fact was, they were not equipped to feed six more men for three months. Especially a mistreated one. Food was not infinite, so going back to Arendelle earlier than planned was inevitable.

 

On the other hand, the Spanish attack had been an ambush. And Arendelle and Spain, to the best of his knowledge, were not currently at war. If Spain was trying to start something, one less ship between them and Arendelle was the last thing his country needed. So he couldn’t just abandon this section of water immediately. However…

 

 _Let’s see…if I take some of the prisoner’s rations to add to the New Worlder's…increase the watch by two men…gradually back off to Arendelle instead of going back in one go…two months. We can stay out two months._ He sighed internally. _The Rear Admiral is not going to be happy to hear about this…but rules are rules._

 

He pushed aside the papers and grabbed a blank sheet of paper. _Thank goodness for these new messenger birds. They make life so much easier._

 

***

 

His vision was blurry.

 

His head hurt.

 

 _Everything_ hurt.

 

So it was a normal day so far.

 

But this was different. When he sat up, holding a hand to head in a vain attempt to ward off the pain, someone put their arm around his shoulders and placed something to his lips. Too tired to really question or protest it, he willingly parted his lips, to be rewarded by a broth that was maybe a touch too salty. He didn’t care. It was something to put in his stomach. He gladly chugged the whole thing and quickly felt tired again. Whoever held him up gently lowered him down as he once again slipped into blackness.

 

The next few…hours? Days? Weeks? He was never really sure…but they passed in a similar fashion. Wake up, arm around the shoulder, broth and sometimes water, and fall back asleep. His vision was always fuzzy, so he never got a clear vision of who was helping him. But he felt slightly better every time it happened. Most people probably wouldn’t recognize it. But having dealt with pain for so long, any amount of its absence was a miracle.

 

Finally, after a while, he awoke from what was a more or less natural sleep, with no need to place his hand on his forehead. He blinked a few times, and his vision cleared. At least, enough to see where he was. A room, of some sort, with beds that were carved into the wall. He looked around. There was nothing but dark wall to his left, and a window in the wall to his right. It was just barely close enough to make out the ocean. He audibly sighed, pulling his knees to his chest. He was sick of the ocean. He wanted to be back somewhere… _anywhere_ , at this point…that had dry, solid ground. Where you could tell which way was which and weren’t constantly moving. Was that too much to ask?

 

He didn’t say that out loud, so that meant it wasn’t an open invitation for the gods to screw him over, right?

 

Then there was a voice. A comforting tone, but in a language he didn’t recognize. He turned to the direction the voice had come from. He gasped, trying to get as much distance as he could from him and the…the…the _white_ man. “P-please,” he begged. “M-mer-mercy. Have mercy. I’ve just barely gotten better, please don’t make it worse!” He braced himself anyway, using his arms to block as much as he could.

 

But the man only spoke softly, gently, again in that language he didn’t recognize. Although, admittedly, it did… _sound_ different from the other white men he’d encountered. And this one looked different, too. Something about the clothes, maybe, or the way he had his hair, or perhaps his eyes. Not the color…he’d seen blue before…but something else. Something he couldn’t quite identify. Whatever it was, it made him lower his arms and stare back at him. It was then he realized something about his left arm.

 

Specifically, it was in a splint.

 

He looked at it closely. It wasn’t much…two sticks tied with cloth…but no one had cared to do anything with it until now. He looked up, now more confused then ever. “Who…who are you?”

 

But the white man merely stared back at him blankly.

 

Right. Language. He wouldn’t…couldn’t…understand anything he said. He sighed once more, turning away.

 

“Matthias.”

 

He turned once more. The white man was pointing to himself. “Matthias,” he repeated.

 

“Is…is that your name?” He pointed to the white man. “Matthias?”

 

The white man nodded and then pointed to him.

 

“Me?” He pointed to himself. The white man nodded. He gulped heavily, hoping this turned out alright. “K-Kuzco. My name is Kuzco.”

 

“Kuz-co. Kuzco.” The man pointed to him, and he nodded. Matthias said more things in his language and began to do…things. Doctor-y things, like check his pulse and look at his splint. So, he was a doctor. That answered one question.

 

He still had about a billion, but hey. Had to start somewhere.

 

The doctor patted him once on the head, then stood to leave. Before he did, though, he gently pushed Kuzco back onto the mattress. “You need your rest” was apparently something all doctors said. Then he said some more strange words in a comforting tone and promptly left.

 

Well.

 

That was strange.

 

But it was also…safe. The safest he’d felt in awhile. He turned onto his side, looking out the window.

 

_I wonder what the gods have in store for me now._


End file.
